There's a certain quality in the air on these cold afternoons
when the sky is crystal clear and the sunlight is pouring in my window
like it's been filtered through a fine mesh
polished to perfection
and vibrating softly at the frequency of everything beautiful

It feels alive, tangible.
(I've heard it called the golden hour;
I don't disagree, but I feel that the word choice is too obvious,
and why settle for commonplace in moments so striking?)

In moments like this I feel truly peaceful
Simultaneously solitary and belonging to everything
stretching both backward in time
and forward -
It's reassuring and familiar,
Like I've been here before,
And I know I'll be here again

My "self", expansive as the sky
Contained within a ray of sunlight,
Delicate as the dust specks dancing in the beam
Passing through time like leaves
bright for an instant before they fall, making way for new buds in spring.